


The Rowing Boat

by elena_fisher



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 12:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena_fisher/pseuds/elena_fisher
Summary: Isabela's attempt at romance goes slightly awry.





	The Rowing Boat

“Bela where are we going?” Hawke complains as Isabela pulls her through Lowtown by the hand. She had come to her home in Hightown this morning, giddily expressing that she had something to show Hawke, but she hadn’t realised that it was this far away. If she had she might have stayed in bed.

“We’re nearly there!” she says, still dragging Hawke as they weave in and out of the crowds of people. Eventually they reach the docks and she is no less confused. Has Isabela bought her her very own foundry? Just what she’s always wanted.

“Tada!” Isabela says excitedly as she points at the array of boats sat in the dock.

Hawke squints, looking for whatever it is that she has seemingly missed. “Er, nice view?” She looks at Isabela for an answer. The Rivani woman had always been difficult to read and for a long time Hawke did not know where she stood. If their relationship was purely sexual or if there were in fact feelings involved. Eventually she was able to coax out of her the confession that she had feelings for Hawke. But looking at her now, she has no idea what her lover was trying to communicate.

“No look,” she says pointing to a small rowing boat that is tied to a wooden post.

“Oh, is this your new ship?” Hawke jokes.

“No silly, I thought we could go for a boat ride.”

“A boat ride? In Kirkwall?” Hawke asks incredulously, giggling like she’s had too much elfroot. “Ah yes, to our right here we have the Gallows. If you’re a fan of Chantry oppression then this is the idea location for you!” she says, putting on a fake Orlesian accent. “If you look straight past that pile of corpses you can see a plethora of pretty sculptures from the Divine Age.”

Isabela chuckles. “You sound like Anders.” Hawke shrugs. “Look I know Kirkwall isn’t the most romantic place in the world but what do you say? I brought a picnic.” She gestures the bag she is holding.

Hawke’s head shoots up at the mention of food and she starts to pay more attention to Isabela’s proposition. “What food?” She raises her eyebrows intently.

“Those Orlesian cakes you like. And ham that tastes of despair.”

“Okay I’m in. But if the Templars catch us then this was all your idea.”

 

Hawke rotates her arms vigorously as she rows the boat towards a safe spot where they should be undetected. It is now midday and the sun is at it’ highest, making her sweat profusely in her bulky mage robes. “You know you can help me row captain,” she says to Isabela who is gazing wistfully at the scenery.

“But you’re doing ever so well at it,” she quips and carries on staring at the dazzling water that even Hawke has to admit looks pretty spectacular in the sun.

When they make it to a safe place, Hawke stops and stares at Isabela with a confused expression.

“What?” Isabela says, noticing her. “You don’t have to ask my permission to start on the food you know. Normally I have to hold you back.” She laughs but Hawke does not share her humour.

“Bela, you’ve been silent the whole time it took to get here and you look like you’ve had something on your mind. What’s wrong? Do you need to tell me something? Have you done something bad?” Hawke asks, voice laced with concern and fear. Was she going to tell her some terrible news?

“I haven’t _done_ anything. This is your blasted fault,” she says angrily.

“Mine?”

“Yes…I…” she takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “You know I’m not good at talking about my feelings…”

“Are you breaking up with me?” says Hawke, panicking that this could be the end for them when it has hardly even begun.

“No. The exact opposite. I…we’ve been doing whatever this is for a while now and…shit…I er…I’m trying to say you’re amazing. You’re a much person than I’ve ever been. For a while I was jealous of you. You’re so charming and witty and _beautiful._ And you always know the right thing to do or say and you always help people, even if you don’t get much in return.”

“Isabela,” Hawke in interrupts. “I don’t always know what to do. I make it up most of the time and hope for the best. You have no reason to be jealous.”

“I know I know. I know now it’s not jealously I was feeling but…love. I’m trying to say I love you. And yes I was terrified of that at first and shit, I still am. I have never felt so _wanted_ before, even when I make mistakes and do stupid things. You always seem to forgive me and you mean the absolute world to me and…” she sighs heavily. “I love you. Like _really_ love you.”  Hawke is stunned into silence. Then she notices that Isabela has started to panic when she doesn’t say anything back.

“I’ve blown it, haven’t I?”

“What? No! Maker no! I’m just…shocked. I thought you were going to say…well it hardly matters now. I love you too. Always.”

“Oh thank the maker!” she exclaims.

“Great so,” Hawke sniffles and pretends to wipe away fake tears. “When’s the wedding?”

“Oh shut up," says Isabela playfully. Can’t take anything seriously for long, can you?”

“Yes and you love it,” Hawke winks.

Isabela smiles and pulls her into a kiss. At first it is soft and gentle, not at all akin to their usual and much rougher passion, but Hawke cannot say she doesn’t like this new approach. As it deepens, Isabela pulls her down so that she is lying on top of her, and plants soft kisses along her jawline as Hawke traces circles delicately on her thighs.

In a fit of desperation and desire, Isabela sits up to unburden Hawke of her robes but her sudden jolt rocks the boat and before the know it they are under water. Hawke’s armour is heavy and she starts to plummet towards the sea bed before a hand pulls her out and back onto the boat. She coughs up the water that entered her lungs as Isabela pats her vigorously on the back.

“That’s the last time I try to be romantic,” she says, wiping herself down. “Come on. Let gets back.”

 

“What is Andraste’s name happened to you two?” Varric asks as Hawke and Isabela as they enter the Hanged Man, still soaking wet from their ordeal with the boat. All eyes are on them, as they usually are, and for once it is water they are covered in, not blood. Not that wearing someone else’s entrails was abnormal for this place, there was no dress policy, after all. They let Anders in and he always reeked like a sewer.

“We sort of fell in the Waking Sea,” says Hawke, trying not to laugh.

“I don’t even want to know how you did that? Drink?” he says completely unsurprised by their antics and orders a round when they both nod eagerly.

“Normally being wet around you is much more fun than this,” says Isabela and Hawke sees Varric almost choke on his ale from the corner of her eye.

“How about after this drink we go back to mine and get out of these clothes?” Hawke propositions and Isabela smirks suggestively.

She takes a large gulp of ale and smashes the tankard down on the bar. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

Varric smiles to himself as the two of them exit the Hanged Man faster than he’s ever seen them move before.


End file.
